The Angel Illusion
by Subtlynice
Summary: Edward cannot return to Forks, but he can delude himself into believing Bella is by his side. Set during New Moon. Edward/Bella angst.


**A/N:** This story is my apology for not writing anything in the last month. I do have my reasons- I've just moved down to the south coast, and the internet takes a while to set up. The place I've moved to is very small- no internet cafés or anything, so I've been completely internet-less for the last month. I've only just found out about the new trailer and the breaking dawn quotes and all the comic con stuff!

Also, I'd like to apologise for my English-isms. I know I've spelt things '-our' instead of '-or' and '-ise' instead of '-ize' before, but I realised I've never fully explained before. For those of you who aren't in the know; I'm English, therefore I write using a U.K. dictionary. So, it's not just another fanfic author who can't spell, it's a fanfic author from London.

Anyway, that author's note was way too long. Sorry. Here's a slightly depressing story to make up for it.

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The Angel Illusion

The cellar he has burrowed himself away in is dark, decrepit and shabby to put it mildly. A more fitting description would take into account the dank, dirt-covered walls, the stench of decay and the threadbare off-white sheets covering all furniture, as if someone had been planning to redecorate but then decided against it and left it undisturbed for decades. Piles of moth-eaten, forgotten possessions are covered in a thick layer of dust.

This is the accommodation he chooses for himself. He knows it is unnecessary- he has enough money to spend the rest of his existence in luxury five star hotels –but he also knows he doesn't deserve luxury.

Curled up in his corner, he sighs as his thoughts turn to what _she _would make of his surroundings. He knows she would be horrified if she knew. This is yet another good reason he lied to her all those months ago, destroying himself in the process. He doesn't want her to know. Doesn't want her to sympathise.

And yet at the same time, he yearns for her sympathy.

There is not one moment when he doesn't think of her- even now, holed away in such vile surroundings, he can visualise her smile; hear her beautiful, melodic heartbeat.

He closes his eyes, and there she is- his angel, his lovely delusion, gazing at the pitiful creature he has become with a peculiar mixture of adoration and sympathy. The prey who is forever concerned for her predator. He is thankful for his photographic memory which captured all her brilliance, all her perfection, and stored it away so that he could remember her with precise, detailed illusions such as this one.

She is glowing; radiant. She looks so out of place in such a disgusting slum. He hungrily recalls her eyes- so brown, so warm, with such depth. In his mind's eye the illusion smiles that perfect, heart-shattering smile that he remembers so well.

Her cheeks are pink, as they always were in his presence, and her hair billows around her face in a gentle breeze remembered from the one summer they spent together. This vision of pure, untainted beauty beside his abnormality scares him. How had such a magnificent creature wanted him in the first place? It is absurd. The beauty and her beast.

There is so much he wants to explain to her-the_ real_ her; so much he wants to admit to. Because although he knows she is safer believing the lie, he hates himself for making her believe she is unloved.

"Edward." The illusion says. She sound angry, but the anger barely registers with him. He just listens with craving to the voice.

"Stop this." She continues. "Stop torturing yourself. Come home."

He smiles to himself. Yes, that would be exactly what she would say if she could see him now. If she still cares. He hopes she still cares. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help himself. And he knows that if she did care, she would want him to stop distancing himself from his family and go home.

_Aah._ He thinks. _Home._

In over 100 years on the planet, there is only one small, insignificant town that he will ever think of as home. But Forks is barred to him while she is still there. He has banished himself and forbids himself to return. The only way he can delude himself he is home is through his imagination, through the angel illusion he sees before him.

He reaches up to her and she smiles, wrapping her small, fragile hand around his. Still with his eyes closed, he imagines what it would feel like if it were really there. Soft. Warm. _Heavenly._

The memory of her touch feels amazing, but it is also excruciatingly painful as he realises that that is all it ever will be- a memory. He chokes out a tearless sob as the angel in his mind strokes his hand soothingly. The action takes him back to another time when she had sat beside him stroking his hand- a rare sunny memory –and he remembers how incredible it had felt to lie in the grass of his meadow, with his angel, his trusting lamb stroking fire along his arm with her fingertips. The angel watches him with nostalgia in her eyes, as if she too is remembering.

"I miss you." He whispers. The illusion is too much- and not enough. He needs more than the illusion, he needs _her_. And more than just her physical presence, he needs her comfort and her reassurances. He needs her forgiveness, because although the memory of her keeps him going, the memory of their goodbye drives him insane.

The illusion changes suddenly- it is just as lovely, but her lovely face is crumpled in agony.

"_You… don't… want me?"_

The hole in his chest where his dead heart had once resided throbs painfully. He is fully sobbing now- tearless, broken, never-ceasing sobs. His whole body shakes with them.

"Shhh," whispers the illusion. She is smiling again now. There is no sign of the agony from that dreadful night in the woods on her face. He wonders if the real Bella was smiling now, or if his attempt at closure had been as fruitless for her as it was for him.

She leans over to bring her mouth to his ear. He calms down as his subconscious gives him what he wants to hear.

"I miss you." She murmurs. He recognises the tone from another memory- one of a telephone conversation during a very dangerous time for his angel. He had saved her, but it had been close. He had nearly lost her then. He would not go back now just to put her in danger yet again. She deserves better than that.

_Better than me._ He thinks. _She deserves someone who can grow old with her, someone who could live with her in a city full of sunlight. Someone who could kiss her without having to worry about destroying her soul._

The angel takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. Again, he imagines how it would feel if it were real. He decides words could never do it justice.

"It hurts." He confesses. "Knowing that you would take me back in a second if I were to give in and come home. It's what I want more than anything, and yet… and yet I also want you as far away from me as possible, out of harms way. How do I survive when the two things I want most in the world are impossible to achieve together?"

She drops one hand back to his and squeezes it, and although he feels nothing, he imagines he can. As a vampire, he can think many different things at once and this is no challenge. He looks into her eyes and looses himself in their depths. He later has no idea how long he spent sitting in the darkness, just remembering her eyes.

Slowly, it becomes more. He finds himself longing for her warmth. He wants to hold her in his arms again and smell her siren scent surrounding him. He longs to kiss her, just once more. If only he could.

His illusion is perfectly content to sit with him in the darkness and smile fondly as he gazes at her. He finds his memories of her melting into daydreams of her- places he never got a chance to take her, or things he never had an opportunity to do with her. He wonders what he would do if she were here now- the real her, not the memory. Kiss every inch of her skin, he decides. Or fall to the floor, clasp her knees and beg for forgiveness.

A rumbling Spanish shout echoes from above. He tries to ignore it, but he is weak- he hasn't hunted in a long time and the scent is made stronger by the alcohol in the man's bloodstream.

As her growls, the angel soothes him.

"Would I want you to do this?" She asks, and he relaxes again, instantly ashamed.

"_Bella._" He moans. "_Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella…_"

Another drunken shout sounds above and he knows he will have to leave his pathetic excuse for a shelter soon. He'll keep searching the area and then find another place to stay- another cellar, or an attic perhaps.

Sighing, he opens his eyes and the angel illusion is gone. He can still see her in his mind though- he doubts there will ever come a time when she is not the first and foremost thing he thinks of.

"I love you." He whispers in the darkness. He hears the reply as clearly as if it were yesterday. In reality, it was almost a year ago, four words spoken by the angel as she slept, with him at her side.

"I love you, Edward."

He sighs.

The sun has risen to a new day. Today, he will reluctantly answer the telephone calls of his very persistent sister Rosalie.

Today, his world will end, and the agony he has known for the past seven months will be increased to an unbearable level of pain.

And tomorrow, he will watch the sun rise across Volterra skies.

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**A/N:** Please review, I always look forward to the reviews I receive!

**This story and a few of my others - Keeping Demons at Bay, For Her and Thy Beauty - have been nominated in the "You're Never Too Young To Write" contest hosted by Cyartia and invisiblevampire. It's such a unique contest idea, and I'd love some votes! Voting beings on 1st May. In the meantime, see their profiles for details on how to nominate other teen writers. K-rated fics deserve love too!**


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